


One After 2011

by Hey_Bulldog



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Adventure, Fantasy, Gen, Humor, time-travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:10:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hey_Bulldog/pseuds/Hey_Bulldog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Beatles are time warped to the present and meet a new friend. As they progress, they start to learn more about themselves and the world around them. They soon find out that their music is coming to life . . . literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One After 2011

**ONE AFTER 2011**

**Summary: The Beatles are time warped to the present and meet a new friend. As they progress, they start to learn more about themselves and the world around them. They soon find out that their music is coming to life . . . literally.**

**Chapter 1: Snapped me Strings**

“Yeh’ all ready now, lads?”

 _So, this was it,_ I thought. Coming all the way here to the US once again.  I was amazed at how fast Beatlemania spread out here, in every single city, county and God knows what. A year had passed since our first appearance on the Ed Sullivan show. Hell, we didn’t even know who the bloke was when we first landed. Now we’re here, in New York, the city that never sleeps as they call it, at Shea Stadium, about to go live to a sold out dome.

“Ey’ Ringo, yer suit’s on backwards” Paulyelled.

“Ah, wha?” Ringo hastily checked  his tux.

“Ha, its fine, I’m just messin’ with ya son.” Paul said.

I laughed. Messing with people, that’s what we loved, especially with ourselves.

“Oh, shut yer gob Harrison.” Ringo snapped at me.

Yes, that was me, George Harrison, the quiet and youngest Beatle, the lead guitarist, the Scouse of Distinction.

“Alright, lads. Its showtime!” Brian walked in the dressing room.  “I hope you lot fixed yourselves up. Can’t go out there looking like death run over now.”

“Got it Eppy.” Paul, Ringo and I said in unison.

“Hey,” Brian paused, “Where’s John?”

“Hangin’ around the steps. Said he’ll throw a fit waiting for us to tidy ourselves like them birds”. Ringo said.

“And usually I’m the one ready first.” Paul smirked.

“Well, you best carry along now. The fans are waiting; they’re dying just to see you four set your feet on the grass!”

The three of us rushed out as I grabbed my 1964 Gretsch, only to nearly get hit smack in the face from carelessness into John.

“C’mon you guys. Can’t you stay still for a sec?” I could see the faint smile in John’s lips.

We rushed out from underground, and we could hear the fans scream so loud it could give you brain damage. We went up the stage, Paul greeted them as usual, and then we started playing. I made sure not to miss a single note in any song. It enlightened me, playing to all these Americans, just wanting to make sure their satisfaction was fulfilled.

I decided to glance around at the audience. You see, usually in most of our concerts, there were always these people part of the audience not like the others. Instead of screaming our names at the top of their lungs, they would just hum to themselves, in their own happy place. My mind still on playing the song, I looked around and saw a young boy who looked like he was from the West. With his cowboyish uniform and raccoon eyes. Then I saw four men with funny mustaches. They looked EXACTLY like us, it was freaky really.

Then we did the usual autograph signing and stuff.  There were hordes of girls piling up. Like always, all the girls want to marry us (sorry for the ones that want John and Ringo, they’re already taken). I wonder if they ever lose their voices screaming whenever they see us.

After the concert we went back to our hotel room, tired as a flat tire.                         

We all chatted for a while, had a short smoke, then finally went to bed. I was sharing with Ringo as usual.

“Well, its been a hard day, hasn’t it George?” Ringo asked me.

“Yeah, I guess.” I sleepily said to him.

“Boy, yer a tired one, aren’t ya?” He laughed. “Alright, Imma let you take that beauty rest of yours. Night George.”

“Night Rings,” I snored in an instant.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

“Okay Dan, I think this is a good building to search, but why are we even here in the first place?”

“I already told you, Nancy! We’re catching that fiendish little raccoon.”

“But Dan, he’s my –“  
“Boyfriend? Whatever! Look, we just came in through that bathroom window, I’m tired and sweating, and there’s probably somebody sleeping here right now, so shut it! I didn’t come all the way to New York to hear your babbling. Now let’s move!’

Dan grabbed Nancy by the arm and they both crept slowly out of the bathroom and checked each room one by one. They checked the first room.

“Shh, there’s somebody here in this bedroom.” Dan said. “You go take a look while I wait here. Tell me if you see him. Remember, you’re his bait. He’ll come scampering to you the moment he sees you.”

“But Dan-“

“Go!”

Nancy slowly entered the room, nearly tripping from her anxiousness and Dan’s glare. She looked at the two sleeping men in front of her. The first had hair until the tip of his ears and almond-shaped eyes. The other . . .

“Dan!” she whispered.

“What is it?” he suddenly said.

“This guy here, he looks just like Rocky!  He doesn’t have any raccoon features but-“

“Lemme see!” He shoved Nancy out of the way and looked at the sleeping man’s face. He realized something and his devilish smile dropped.

“We gotta get outta here.” Dan said, rushing to leave.

“But why?” Nancy asked.

“Just follow me. Now.” Dan literally ran out of the room, kicking everything in his path. Nancy followed, jumping over everything Dan left in ruined. Neither of them bothered to keep quiet. They entered the other room, damaging the things there too, and jumped out the window.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“ The bloody hell was THAT?” I could hear John yelling from the other room.

I turned on the lights. I looked bug-eyed at the mess around us, and so did Ringo. The entire room was in ruins, and the window was broken. It looked like someone broke in.

“Ringo, our instruments . . .” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

“THEY’RE FUCKIN’ DESTROYED!” Paul burst into our room, holding his Hofner bass, or, what _was_ his bass, at least.

John came in too with his guitar. The fret board was in half. And with the look he was giving us, I knew something went down.

“Me drum sticks are broken! At least there’s no real damage to me drums,” Ringo calmly stated.

“Lucky for you Ringo! I snapped me strings and just look at those two!” I pointed at John and Paul.

“Have we been robbed? Must be some fan girls . . .” I said.

“Yeah, fan girls probably, but everything seems to be here, _destroyed and all_ ,” Paul grumpily replied.

“Who would do this?” John growled.

“I dunno John, but whoever did, they left something on George’s bed,” Paul pointed to a small paper next to me.

I picked the paper up and unfolded it. “Hey, this is the bloke I saw in the crowd at Shea!” It was a photo of the guy with the raccoon eyes. I flipped the paper and there was a note. I read it aloud to everyone.

 

If you are reading this right now, it’s no mistake you found this letter. Winston, James, Harold, Richard, those may not be the names you are more known for, but they are still your names. Anyway, you should be in New York by now. If you are, there is a building called the Dakota. It’s on 1 West 72nd street. Just go to the receptionist and say you’re looking for Mr. Lennon. Get the key, go to the unit and go in. Nobody lives there but there is a small box on the couch. Open it, and find out the rest for yourself. Please, you must do this. I made no mistake when I wrote this letter . . . Beatles. Just trust me on this. Good day and good luck on your adventure.

 

With peace and love,

Lil, Nancy, Magill, whatever you want to call me.

 

“So it was a fan girl!” Ringo shouted.

“What’s this letter supposed to mean? We’re supposed to find some box which we don’t even know what could possibly be inside? She even knows our other names for crying out loud!” Paul shrieked.

“And Mr. Lennon, is that supposed to be John? I asked.

“Calm down Paul. But he’s right, is this stuff legit?” John was quizzical.

“We don’t even know what could be there. Is there even a building called the Dakota?” Ringo wondered

“It’s risky yes, but aren’t all great things risky? So, whaddya say boys . . . are we in or not?” I said with confidence.

We all paused for a moment, thinking to ourselves. Then John finally snapped up.

“To the Dakota it is.”

 

 

 

 

                                                                             

 

 


End file.
